


Hank/Pavel (Sort of) Kidfic

by thesaddestboner



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Detroit Red Wings, Divorce, Gen, Kid Fic, Not!Fic, Open Relationships, Russians, mention of family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-25
Updated: 2013-08-25
Packaged: 2017-12-24 13:53:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/940737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesaddestboner/pseuds/thesaddestboner
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Hank’s in the kitchen of the house he and Emma share—well, until she decided she was homesick and went back to vacation in Sweden for the winter, without him—chopping up vegetables and tossing them in a frying pan on the stove when the doorbell rings.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hank/Pavel (Sort of) Kidfic

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be set somewhat nebulously during the lockout, I guess.
> 
> Abandoned for reasons.
> 
> You can find me on [twitter](http://twitter.com/thesaddestboner) and [tumblr](http://saddestboner.tumblr.com).

Hank’s in the kitchen of the house he and Emma share—well, until she decided she was homesick and went back to vacation in Sweden for the winter, without him—chopping up vegetables and tossing them in a frying pan on the stove when the doorbell rings. Which is weird, because he isn’t expecting anyone, unless Emma’s changed her mind about going back to Sweden until the spring and he’s pretty sure it’s not her. Emma can be stubborn when she feels like it.

Hank dries off his damp hands on a dishrag and goes to answer the door.

Pavel Datsyuk is standing on his doorstep, luggage in tow, wearing a team-issued red hoodie and his familiar lopsided smile.

“Pavel?” Hank asks, as if it could be anyone else. As if it’s someone else, wearing a Pavel disguise. “I thought you were in Russia.”

“I was,” Pavel says. “I come back.”

“Why? You must be tired. Come in,” Hank says, stepping aside and ushering him inside with a wave of his hand.

“I miss it here. Liza miss it too,” Pavel says. “So we come back.”

 _Liza is probably in middle school now,_ Hank thinks, still fiddling with his dishrag. _Or maybe even high school._ When Hank tries to recall Liza’s age, tries to conjure up a mental image of her, all he sees is the towheaded infant she’d been during their 2002 Cup run.

“And Svetlana,” Hank asks. “She is okay with this?”

Pavel shrugs and reaches back to shut the door, letting his bag drop to the floor. His dark eyes dart about, sharp and alert, like he’s searching for lurking defenders he needs to dance past. “Mm, yes. Is fine.”

Something’s not quite right, though. Hank can feel it settling in his bones, chilly like a gust of cold wind. “Where is Liza now? She didn’t come with you?” 

“She is... Is long story,” Pavel says, kicking at his bag, looking down at it almost resentfully. “She come later. After I settle down. Get house ready for her.”

“Um, okay,” Hank says. “I was making dinner. You hungry? Maybe you could set the table, and we could talk about—”

“No talk.” Pavel interrupts him, lifting his hand. “Not here for your conversation.” He grins, but it’s insincere. Hank can see that the lines aren’t etched too deeply at the corners of Pavel’s eyes like he’s used to.

“Okay,” Hank says. “Go—go make yourself comfortable in the living room. Find something to watch on TV. I’ll call you when dinner is ready.”

Pavel nods, offering him a smaller—but still more sincere than before—smile and retreats to the living room.

Hank returns most of his attention to preparing dinner, but he can’t stop thinking about Pavel’s just slightly _off_ behavior, and the fact he’d apparently left Svetlana and Liza back in Russia. Something isn’t adding up at all, and Hank will get to the bottom of it. If he has to drag it out of Pavel by force, that’s just what he’ll have to do.

Once dinner is ready, Hank dishes it out and brings plates and silverware to the dining room table. Pavel is already sitting at the end of the table, looking down at his shiny black iPhone, his brow creased, bottom lip sucked between his teeth.

Hank sets a plate in front of him and Pavel looks up. “Everything okay?” 

Pavel nods at the glossy screen. “Liza just telling me about school and friends. She say her mother...” Pavel trails off and sets the phone down beside his plate and silverware. “This smells nice. You make from scratch? You no use cookbooks?”

Hank purses his lips, but lets Pavel change subjects without protest. He carries his plate to the other end of the table and sits down with it. “No cookbooks,” Hank says, letting himself feel a little proud as he unwinds a cloth napkin from around his fork and knife and drapes it in his lap.

“Good. I miss home cooked meal. Should have come earlier.” Pavel peers around the centerpiece—a vase of vibrant flowers and polished glass beads Emma had picked up at Williams-Sonoma—and smiles at Hank.

“You should have,” Hank agrees, for lack of anything else to say. He pauses, dabbing at his mouth with his napkin. “So... Are you going to tell me what’s going on?”

Pavel starts sawing away furiously at the food on his plate with his fork and knife. “Is nothing going on,” he says. “Just coming for visit.”

“Okay,” Hank says.

Pavel looks at him, narrows his eyes, knife poised in the air. “Maybe there something going on, but I tell you later. After I make plans.”

“Whatever you say, Pav.” Hank turns his attention back to his dinner.

-

Hank leans in the doorway of the guest room, a beer in hand, and watches as Pavel tosses his luggage on the bed and leans down to unzip it. Paper tags with Cyrillic printed on them flutter like flags blown by a faint breeze.

Hank nurses his bottle of beer and coughs lightly, making his presence known. “If you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask.”

Pavel looks over his shoulder at Hank and nods, smiling. “ _Da_ , yes. Thank you, Hank.”

Hank watches him dump out the contents of his bag. He doesn’t suppose he’ll get any more from Pavel about why he’s back in town in the middle of the lockout. 

_Pavel’s as evasive off the ice as he is on it,_ Hank muses, snorting quietly to himself.

Pavel pauses, hovering over his bag. “I hear you breathing. You not as sneaky as me.”

Hank sighs. “Will you just tell me what’s going on? Why are you here? Where’s your family?”

Pavel turns and crosses his arms over his chest, tipping his chin up at Hank. “You won’t leave alone,” he says.

“No,” Hank admits, dropping his arm, letting his now empty bottle dangle from his fingers. “You show up on my doorstep out of nowhere, without an explanation... I want to know what’s going on.”

Pavel sighs and sweeps a hand through his hair. “Svetlana and I... She ask for divorce. She say we marry too young, miss out on life. She is not happy. Not for long while.”

Hank reaches out instinctively for Pavel, grabbing his shoulder and squeezing. “Pav, I’m sorry.”

“Is... is for best,” Pavel says, pursing his lips. He looks up at Hank, searchingly. “Is for best, yes?”

“Maybe some time apart will help,” Hank says.

**Author's Note:**

> The author of this piece intends no insult, slander, or copyright infringement, and is not profiting from this work. This story is a complete work of fiction and does not necessarily reflect on the nature of the individuals featured. This is for entertainment purposes only. If you found this story while Googling your name or the names of your friends, hit the back button now.


End file.
